


Fix You Up

by Shiropropaganda



Series: Fix You Up [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Companion Piece, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post S06, Rough Oral Sex, Sequel, Sparring, consensual withholding of sex, good ol fashioned face fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiropropaganda/pseuds/Shiropropaganda
Summary: “Tie your hair back,” he says, voice deep and rough, “I know what I want.”OR:Shiro wants to get back to fighting-fit after the loss of his arm.Keith gives Shiro a(n in)decent incentive.Slav is there.(Sequel toCloser, but can be read as a stand-alone.)





	Fix You Up

Shiro’s deepest secret is that he’s a bit of a sore loser.

He’s a hard worker-- diligent and patient, so being on the bottom isn’t something he ever really had to get used to. He’s good at playing off a defeat, but the moment he’s alone he seethes in it, drawing his curtains closed and doing push ups until his arms,  _ arm  _ now, go weak, exhausting himself from the pent up energy-- the  _ shame _ .

Even at the Garrison, any losses during sparring were always just disguised wins as the students he mentored learned and fought and grew. Keith had put him on his back faster than anyone, but Shiro never really considered it a defeat when a student shone. It was still  _ his _ victory, just a bit softer.

 

 

He likes to think he’s gotten very good at keeping his temper in check. But right now his nerves are as frayed as the wires in his missing arm as he lands on his back on the mat  _ again _ .

Shiro clenches his jaw and gets back to his feet as quickly as possible. He’s winded, but stubborn and gives Keith a curt nod. The younger man says nothing, but raises his brow for a moment before spinning the wooden staff he’s been using and attacking Shiro again.

Logically, Keith was the  _ wrong _ choice of sparring partner. Shiro’s been frustrated and tired, kept awake and poked and prodded by Slav as he drafts design after design for Shiro’s arm. He knows that if he was truly looking for a confidence boost, he could have dragged Matt to the training room with him-- but Shiro’s feeling a bit masochistic and every time Keith slams him back to the floor he feels the anger he’s been bottling rise up.

Keith has shown that he can temper Shiro’s rage on the rare occasion he lets loose-- looks at him unflinchingly and then calms him with hands and mouth and body until Shiro forgets the biting sting of failure and remembers only  _ Keith _ \-- so when Shiro found him lingering outside the lab, he’d taken him by the elbow straight into the training room.

Shiro is so overwhelmed by feeling bored and  _ useless _ that his skin is itching and his chest feels so tight he has problems breathing sometimes. 

He relied too much on his Galra prosthetic.  
It poisoned him.  
It made him weak.

He’s on his back again, and Keith pushes his staff against the center of Shiro’s chest. 

“You’re not weak, you’re out of practice,” the younger man says flatly, looking bored.

He hasn’t even broken a sweat and Shiro feels furious about it.

Keith withdraws the staff just to bring it down once more on Shiro’s sternum.

“You lost your body, and then got one back missing an entire arm, you’re allowed to be off balance.”

Shiro finds his opening and yanks the staff out of Keith’s hand and throws it across the room, rolling back onto his feet. Keith still mostly looks bored, but he sees the younger man’s lips twitch in amusement a moment before he lunges. 

Keith side steps him easily and lets his disinterested mask break into a smirk. Shiro wants to knock him to the ground and replace it with a submission.

Only a few minutes pass before Shiro is down again, with Keith perched on top of him.

“Get me on the ground one time,” Keith says quietly, leaning so his lips brush against Shiro’s, “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Shiro’s mouth goes dry as Keith’s hips press into his slowly, and then the pressure is gone.

“Anything?” Shiro echos, face burning as Keith stands over him offering a hand to help him up.

Keith pulls him up, hard, making Shiro stumble into his chest, their faces breaths apart. 

“But you have to get me on my back,” the younger man warns stepping back, his fingers leaving trails of touch against Shiro’s chest. 

“What if you win?” Shiro asks.

Keith smiles, a  _ real  _ smile, the kind that makes Shiro’s heart stutter more than his tongue. Unfortunately his actions contradict the softness in his gaze, and Shiro is winded on the floor again.

“You get nothing until you win, does that work for you?” the look in Keith’s eyes is dark, dangerous, and Shiro knows immediately that this is a horrible idea.

He nods anyway.

  
  


Shiro really should have thought this through. 

Three days since their agreement and he hasn’t gained an inch in wrestling Keith to the floor. He’s quick, more even tempered than ever before, and the worst it, he knows how Shiro moves.

He knows  _ intimately _ .

Which is what is making Shiro’s blood boil as Keith steps out of his hold over and over. He shouts in frustration at one point, and it just seems to amuse the other man which makes him even more volatile.

Keith knocks him down in seconds after that, hands smoothing up Shiro’s chest slowly.

“That’s enough for today,” he says, stooping forward to kiss the corner of Shiro’s mouth, “Let’s take a shower.”

Shiro narrows his eyes suspiciously. He and Keith have both been keeping good on their arrangement, barely more than soft kisses good night and casual touches passing between them-- but he knows Keith well enough to find something amiss in the way the younger man bites his lip and tugs Shiro into the shower.

Keith hasn’t  _ forgotten _ .   
He’s just found a convenient work around, and Shiro groans as he leans against the shower wall, one hand around himself with his eyes trained on Keith as the younger man works his fingers inside himself, bracing himself on the wall as he bends to give Shiro one hell of a view.

He presses himself fully against Shiro after he comes, licking into his mouth until Shiro bites his lip as he spills into his fist.

Shiro loves him.

  
  


A week later they need to upgrade to a full hands-off policy, because Shiro is starting to snap at people, and while he’s getting closer to knocking the wind out of Keith in the training room, his body keeps pushing him to make the younger man breathless in a very different way. He keeps waking up hard, hips unconsciously rolling against Keith’s sleeping body.

It’s just like it was when they first started touching each other, quiet but thrumming with sexual energy in a surplus and Shiro has stopped trying to touch Keith outside their room at all. Not since the younger man pressed a soft kiss to his jaw in the lab and Shiro let out a quiet groan he’d tried to cover up with a cough.

Pidge and Matt both noticed though, and… well, Shiro could take their ribbing, but what he couldn’t take was Slav setting down his holotablet and staring at them silently for a full minute.

Shiro booked it to the training room without looking back.

 

“Want you,” he murmurs into Keith’s ear.

Shiro has him pinned against the far wall, both hands shoved into the small of his back in Shiro’s grip.

Keith is smart enough not to sass back, but he doesn’t hide the way he pants when Shiro rolls his hips against him. The younger man slumps into the wall for a moment before pushing himself back, ass rubbing against Shiro and that tiny movement is enough to distract Shiro into loosening his grip enough for Keith to escape his hold. 

“You can have me when you’ve earned it,” Keith says, red dusting his cheeks and his chest heaving as he dodges Shiro’s wild grab.

Keith puts him down with an impressive move that gives Shiro an all-access view of his crotch, and he can’t help but huff out a breath against the seam of Keith’s sweats.

The younger man pushes his head down to the mat with a hand in his hair.

“Behave,” he warns, fingers brushing Shiro’s jaw softly with a smug smile— a direct contrast to his words.

“I’m going to fuck that smirk off your face when I take you down,” Shiro says quietly, and it earns him a sharp laugh and two of Keith’s fingers in his mouth.

 

 

“Terrible,” Slav says, eyeing the seam where his prototype connected to Shiro’s shoulder, “I’m so embarrassed, how could I think this was good enough?”

“It feels fine,” Shiro grumbles, flexing his fingertips and bending his elbow with ease. 

The arm feels fluid, the weight calibrated flawlessly. When Shiro lays his palm against the flesh of his left arm, the metal is body temperature. He can even feel some of the sensors indicating heat from his skin.

“In 87% of realities ‘feels fine’ is ends up as ‘dead’!” Slav snaps, breaking the connection and tossing the prosthetic onto a growing pile of scraps.

Shiro shoots Matt and Pidge a dark look, and they have the sense to duck behind a computer screen.

“For the first time, I think just the one arm is better,” the alien grumbles, taking one last long look at the socket on Shiro’s right, “alright come back tomorrow, I’ll see if I can try out something less horrifying.”

 

 

Shiro spends a good part of the night with his hand around his cock, forehead pressed against Keith’s as they jerk off beside each other, exchanging hot, open mouthed kisses that are so good but not  _ enough _ .

He’s still pent up after Keith has fallen asleep, and slips out to go to the training deck. He manages to string up a bag and works on his strikes. His left hand is unwrapped, but he rotates hits between his fist and his legs to keep the skin from protesting too much.

“Oh good you’re awake,” comes a voice from the doorway, and Shiro’s shoulders slump.

Slav waves a hand-- or maybe more, Shiro tries not to look to long.

“Come to the lab, I have work for you.”

Shiro’s feet are dragging on the way, but his brain is far too active for him to trick Slav into thinking he’s truly tired, so he flops on the stool the other man motions to when they enter the lab.

Slav connects Shiro’s circuitry to his holotablet and runs some diagnostics before babbling to himself. Shiro catches the words  _ sensation _ and  _ sensitivity _ and something that sounds a bit like a nursery rhyme he remembers-- something about ‘All the king’s horses and all the king’s men”.

He finds himself mulling over the rhyme for a while, only looking up when Slav hits the metal socket of his right arm with a wrench, making a soft  _ ting _ .

“Don’t worry,” the other man says cheerfully, “I’ll get you together again.”

Shiro winces when the wrench hits again, making a louder  _ clang _ , but Slav seems satisfied enough with the sound and wanders away again, tugging out a few different prototypes and looking over each carefully.

“The one you tried today really did feel good,” Shiro tries, wondering if he could ever convince the alien to settle for something less than perfection.

“Not good enough,” Slav replies, tossing one of the forms away and tapping the remaining ones with his wrench.

“Why not?” he’s actually curious, “It moved like a dream, it registered the heat of my skin. It was a good fit.”

“Not good enough,” the other man repeats, putting down his wrench.

Slav looks at him for a moment and then shoves his hands into the pockets of his work coat, leaning forward into Shiro’s space.

“I refuse to give you an arm that won’t increase your chances of survival by a minimum of 98%.”

Shiro scoffs, “That seems like an unrealistic expectation.”

“It is a necessary one,” Slav says firmly, “Black Paladin, I know I am not easy to work with, but you and I are tied in more than this reality.”

Shiro blinks.

“Your friends have told me of a reality they experienced where you and I were partners, true friends,” the other man continues, “and it has made me delve deeper into my calculations. Your life and mine are tied together in a statistically significant number of realities.”

“What does that mean?” Shiro knows what that means, dreads the layman’s term for it, but he asks anyway-- a glutton for punishment.

Slav wiggles his eyebrows in what Shiro can only assume is a very good impression of Lance.

“We are soulmates.”

Shiro knew hearing the word would be bad, but the reality is so, so much worse.

“Bonded. Joined. Twin souls. Best friends.” 

The alien seems to be receiving great joy from watching Shiro’s will to live leak out of his body. He pauses his assault on Shiro’s brain long enough to twist one of the cables connected to his arm. It sends a sharp shock through Shiro’s body and he yelps, falling from the stool.

“Be happy, Black Paladin,” Slav says, looking down at him gleefully, “this is what is driving me to make you the perfect arm.”

He disconnects the cables and helps Shiro to his feet before shoving him unceremoniously out  the door.

Shiro doesn’t sleep, too afraid to dream of eight hands on his body, or of rolling over to see tentacles and a beaked face.

 

 

“What was he like?” He asks Keith the next morning, “The other me? The alternate reality one?”

It’s weird that he has to specify.

“European,” Keith grumbles, shoving Shiro out of the bed and burrowing in the covers.

 

 

Shiro feels stronger, despite not getting any sleep. 

He sees Keith coming up on him, fast and is able to strike him in the chest, knocking him back on his ass with a look of surprise.

Shiro smirks, feeling hopeful for the first time in a while, and is ready when Keith throws himself at him, grabbing the younger man out of the air by his hips and throwing him down onto the floor. Keith jerks to avoid landing on his back, rolling up in a smooth motion and trying to put space between himself and Shiro, but Shiro is on him in a moment locking Keith’s head with his arm and kicking his legs out from under him.

Keith’s hands shoot out, gripping Shiro’s shirt as he falls and tugs him down with them. The younger man’s back hits the mat and his eyes light up and Shiro only has a moment to drink in the sight before his mouth is pressed roughly to Keith’s, hand pushing up his shirt and rubbing longly over the tight muscles of his abdomen and chest. Keith’s legs wrap around him, pulling him down and both men groan as their hips grind together. Shiro rolls his body, pressing Keith heavily into the floor, letting the younger man pant into his mouth for a few moments before drawing back.

Keith looks…  
Well, Keith looks adorably confused as Shiro rises to his feet, sitting up with his head tilted. 

Shiro looks down at him for a long moment and then reaches out, rubbing his thumb against Keith’s lips.

“Tie your hair back,” he says, voice deep and rough, “I know what I want.”

Keith’s eyes go dark and then he’s in motion, ripping the black cord off his wrist and tying his dark hair up with lightning speed. Shiro barely has his sweatpants down far enough before the younger man dives in, licking a hot stripe up Shiro’s length with a soft groan.

Shiro stops him with a hand in his hair, taking himself in his hand and rubbing the head of his cock against Keith’s lips.

“Show me your tongue,” he murmurs, burying his fingers deeper into black tresses.

He rubs himself against Keith’s tongue, wet and a bit rough-- Shiro thinks it’s the galra in him, but doesn’t have the nerve to ask Krolia-- and feeling like fucking  _ heaven _ . Shiro cups the back of his head, guiding him to run his tongue across his entire length.

Keith's eyes slip closed when Shiro whispers, “Open your mouth for me.”

They’ve done this before, but only once (and also one more time, but the other way around and Shiro’s jaw had ached deliciously for two days after), so Shiro takes his time pressing in shallowly at first. It feels so good already and it’s been so long that he knows this won’t be a very involved process, but he wants to be as gentle as he can until Keith signals it’s okay to go deeper. It’s barely a minute before the younger man’s hands find Shiro’s ass, pulling him forward impatiently.

Shiro’s fingers move to grasp Keith’s hair properly, holding the place it’s tied back and pushing his head to take more. His grip is tight, but Keith hasn’t signaled that it’s too much, so Shiro starts rolling his hips deeper. 

Keith moans around him, fingers kneading into muscle as he hollows his cheeks and then swallows around Shiro’s cock like he’s starving for it. Shiro presses this thumb to the side of Keith’s mouth, feeling the edge of his lips where they stretch around him. The younger man’s eyes flick up to meet his own, and then Keith takes him all the way, moaning even louder and Shiro’s self control snaps.

His hips move of their own volition, pressing deep and then pulling all the way out. Keith chases him, taking Shiro in his hand and rubbing the head of his cock lewdly against his lips and then his tongue before taking him back in with a wet sound that makes Shiro’s toes curl.  He puts his hand back into Keith’s hair, pulling the band out and gripping the long strands firmly as he fucks his way back in-- Keith encouraging him with noises that make Shiro’s head spin. He suddenly wishes for his right arm to be whole again, if only just to help him hold Keith’s head still as he comes, the younger man stroking his thighs as he drinks him down.

“Fuck,” he pants, stepping back and stumbling over his own sweatpants, ass hitting the mat as Keith crawls towards him.

He licks into the younger man’s mouth, tasting himself before rubbing a palm between Keith’s thighs-- Keith keens a little and moves back, sensitive as Shiro’s fingers brush a wet patch in the front of his sweats.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he says again, and Keith agrees with a hum, pressing his face into Shiro’s neck.

  
  


 

“Wow,” Shiro breathes, “this is…”

Slav looks smug.  
Or at least, shiro thinks he does, it’s hard to tell on someone with no visible mouth.

The arm feels like he’s never been without it, the metal a dark black that looks purplish near the joints when it’s in the right light. It’s beautiful. The fingers move delicately enough for Shiro to pick up a tiny bead, and when he presses his finger and thumb around it, the sensors tell him the weight and temperature of the object he’s holding.

“Red Paladin, come here,” Slav gestures, and Keith looks scared.

He probably should.

Slav shoves at him until he’s in front of Shiro, close enough to touch. The scientist takes Shiro’s prosthetic by the wrist and presses two fingers against Keith’s throat.

Shiro can feel his pulse.

Sort of. His prosthetic registers the soft beat as well as the warmth of Keith's skin.

“This is incredible,” Shiro says, voice rough, his eyes burn a bit and Slav makes an impatient sound.

“I told you,” he says, slapping the back of Shiro’s head, “my fate is tied to yours. We both now have a 98% chance of living longer than our average life expectancy. Use your extra time wisely, I’m sure the Red Paladin will appreciate the break from saving your life every 10 vargas.”

Shiro spots Keith’s grin from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sure he will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this was just supposed to be a simple porny fic but NOOOOOOOOOOOO.
> 
> Slav is the best.
> 
> "Good ol fashioned face fucking" is going to be my favorite way to describe this fic.


End file.
